


grave men, near death

by TrekFaerie



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Cancer, Future Character Death, Future Fic, Gen, Heart Attacks, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not go gentle into that good night / Old age should burn and rave at close of day / Rage, rage against the dying of the light</p>
            </blockquote>





	grave men, near death

It wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicle in the world, but Edward Nigma had never wanted it to be. Until that very moment, of course; there was something inherently wrong about parking a green car with a giant purple question mark on it outside of a hospital. If there were ever a place where questions were definitely unwanted, it was the cardiology wing of Gotham General.

A damn heart attack. He supposed it made a lot of sense; after all, there was only so much constant terror a heart could take before it just weakened too much. Still, he couldn’t believe it. Of all the various ways it could have happened, he would have never guessed that the Master of Fear would be dying of something as normal as cardiovascular disease.

In his more morbid moments— which had been happening more and more disturbingly often— Eddie often wondered how his fellow Rogues were going to die. He liked to think that they would all go out in spectacularly ironic ways— maybe Pam would fall out of a tree and snap her neck, or Harvey would flip tails on whether to move off a train track or not. He knew the Joker was bound to get shot one of these days. He never thought about boring deaths, like disease or accidents or just plain simple old age. Maybe they were just too real for him.

Crane came down the ramp in a wheelchair, of all things. Was it really only fifteen years ago that this same man had run all over Gotham causing mayhem, escaped Arkham on his own more times than anyone could count, broken so many bones that he’d learned to set them himself? And now he could barely even lift himself out of a wheelchair— though, Eddie was happy to learn, he still insisted on doing it himself. He was more than happy to wait the extra five minutes if it meant not having to deal with this.

He considered turning on the radio, but thought against it. The last thing he needed was for his last memory of Crane to be of them squabbling over radio stations like old men. “So,” he said, more cheerily than he felt, “does it hurt?”

“Be more specific.” He sounded even worse than usual, but at least his attitude hadn’t changed.

“The pacemaker.”

He snorted. “I didn’t want it. Told them to give it to someone who cares.”

His hand twitched in the direction of the radio. “Are you serious? You can’t… Without it, aren’t you going to…”

“Die? Don’t be so condescending; I can still tell when people are scared. I’m dying, not stupid.” He chuckled, harsh and cruel. “And yes, I will. When? I’m not sure; whenever the next attack hits, I suppose. Until then, it’s just a matter of waiting.”

It felt cold in the car, despite it being well into the spring. Eddie fiddled with the temperature knobs, just for something to do. “And you don’t even think that’s horrific, do you.”

“It sounds rather nice to me, actually. We’re not religious men, Edward; we know what awaits us at the end of that good night.”

He was gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “Nothing. There’s nothing there.”

“Precisely. Obviously, I can’t speak for both of us, but I’m actually looking forward to this. A lifetime of screaming followed by an eternity of silence. I haven’t had a calm moment my entire life. But, isn’t that supposed to be when you relax, when you’re dead?”

He didn’t like how… wistfully he was talking about the whole situation. “Well, I’m not, whenever it happens. So stop talking about it.”

A beat.

“It’s terminal, isn’t it?”

If the curb had hurt his precious car in any way, shape, or form, Eddie was going to put Crane in his precious grave much, much earlier than expected.

“Who told you?” he hissed, unable to bring himself to look at him. He knew he was probably grinning, anyway.

“Do you really think you can tell Harleen anything without also telling nearly every Rogue in Gotham?” At his blanched expression, he laughed. “Oh, don’t worry too much, she only told me. Sweet child, she really does trust me implicitly. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.” There was a flash of humanity in his voice, but it evaporated quickly enough, leaving only dry stone behind. “How much time?”

“Months. I’ll still outlive you, old man, you can count on that.” His mouth set into a grim line. “I can’t believe she told you.”

“Oh, don’t blame the girl for something that’s your own fault.”

“My fault? How the hell is it my fault that she broke her word?”

“Because you were dishonest with her.”

Crane had a tendency to speak in riddles; it was why they had always gotten along so well over the other Rogues. Yet, for the first time in his life, the Riddler was sick and tired of riddles. He was sick and tired of everything, really. “Like hell I was!”

“You said you wanted a ride to the hospital, a trip you could have easily made yourself.”

“The chemo made me sick, okay! I didn’t want to pass out on the road or something, so I asked her to drive!”

“You could have asked anyone, any of our mutual acquaintances. I know for a fact that Harvey is a fine driver, half of the time, and that Pamela is rather skilled as well, if you don’t mind a hybrid. You could have taken a cab.”

“Why are you looking into this so much!”

“You never wanted a ride at all, Edward. No, you wanted pity, you wanted compassion, something Harleen has but the rest of us lack. Did she cry when you told her, Edward? Did she lie to you and tell you how it was all going to be alright? Did you get what you wanted from her?”

He grit his teeth. “Is it such a terrible thing to want? I’m dying, damn it.”

“No. I suppose it isn’t.”

Edward started up the car again and continued their ride home. Through the silence, something ate away at him, and at his resolve. “Is that why you called me, then?” he asked slowly, almost cautiously. “Because you knew I wouldn’t be able to feel any pity for you? That’s pretty sick, if you ask me.” He didn’t ask him. Once he was certain he wasn’t getting an answer, he pressed his luck a little bit more. “Or maybe you didn’t want to worry your precious little ‘Harleen,’ or maybe you just wanted to make fun of a dying man and rattle my cage one last time. Which one is it, you sonofabitch! Answer me!”

Crane looked out the window, at the rain starting to fall. “I don’t own a car.”


End file.
